


Sewn Soul

by Arckee



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Creature!Kara, F/F, Frankenstein!Lena, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, Read the notes please, Supercorp Spooktober, a little late but here it is, a really long hug, and it's spooky and dark, but still a love story, tw in the notes, with socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arckee/pseuds/Arckee
Summary: Her body feels foreign. It takes days to adjust to the motions and weeks to grow comfortable in it. With each passing day, she acquires an inch more.A rattle of bones, a clack of fangs and teeth. Soft skin that bleeds under halfmoons of nails.ormy interpretation ofthis.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 26
Kudos: 167





	Sewn Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Last week I stumbled into [this amazing art](https://sheltereredturtle.tumblr.com/post/633467669015887872/day-31-spooky-supercorptober2020) by the wonderful [@sheltereredturtle](https://sheltereredturtle.tumblr.com/) (who I thank deeply for allowing me to display this spooky piece) and I remembered I had started a similar story once upon a time. And then my steam ran out before I could finish it, so it fell into the WIP pile. This art gave me the inspiration to work again on this story, so there it is!  
> Hope you enjoy and happy late Halloween :)  
> (You know, even if Halloween is already gone and with all that's happening in the world right now... there's that and that and this... and that and those, too. Hope everyone is safe out there!)
> 
> But before starting, please read:
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS**
> 
> The first trigger is: **slight Body Horror**.  
> I said slight because the references are brief and not too graphic, mostly implied, but better be warned. They are contained in one single section that I marked with +*****+ instead of my usual break line. But since it's a vital paragraph to the story, if you decide to skip it you should scroll directly to the ending notes to read what happens in that section.  
> The second trigger is: **Suicidal Thoughts**.  
> This is not a heavy feature for this story, but please consider this before reading. It's about Lena, and these thoughts surface only in the last scene of the story (everything before the last scene is safe). They are rapidly shaken away, but Lena still thinks about them, they are heavily implied. Please, take care of yourself first.  
> Lastly, this is not a trigger, but I still wanted to mention this. There's talking about gender, just a small scene. I documented myself on this topic (and still are documenting) from good sources online, so I think I did a fair job on it. But please, let me know if I said something wrong or anything else. Thank you for understanding.

The first time they open their eyes, they are missing one arm.

They don't know how they can tell they're missing one. It's not like they have been alive before to know how many arms there should be.

No, no. They haven't.

They're a newborn. Unfurling and slowly shaking the sleepy awkwardness that lingers in their joints.

They're born strapped to a table, falling behind the rhythm of a thunderous roar. Sometimes later, when they are no longer lying on the cold surface, they learn the roar is called thunder. They observe its cracks in the sky, huddled in fuzzy socks while standing behind a clinking windowpane. The bright wounds resemble the stitches trailing down their torso.

Pulsing white shadows float behind their eyelids, on the inside of their gaze. Collecting the small courage that pools somewhere in the folded creases of her body, they open their eyes.

It's dark, the place where they are. Dark and loud. If there's any warmth in the air, they can't tell.

A mute flash of light rushes their sight, almost blinding. It illuminates a pattern on the skin, a distortion of drops of shadow on her torso. They all trickle towards the same direction in an irregular flow of speed. Fragments, vanishing in a well of darkness over the side of the body.

After light comes darkness and thunder.

The pounding ricochets inside their ears. There's something pulsing, pounding and drumming, something heavy that feels foreign.

They try to curl both hands into fists. One feels too weak and the other is made entirely of feeling and memories. Memories of a lost arm... an arm they... she-

A silhouette brushes them and they struggle to turn their head to follow. There are wires connected to their temples, touching the lines of eyebrows with pinpricks of cold.

It's a woman, they think.

A woman like me, _she_ feels, a woman moulded from darkness and filled with light. A woman like she has never seen before.

But... she's new to the world, and she can't have seen any other woman before.

Something low rises from her body, a rumbling of dissatisfaction and want that attracts the woman's attention. She replies with a hum, a melody far more pleasant than the roar of thunder that's barreling through her senses.

The wires are removed from her body.

Even if she doesn't actually move, the motion exhausts her and under the watchful eyes of the woman she feels her eyelids grow heavy. The woman disappears from her side and she blinks slowly, wishing to remain awake for her return. Despite her efforts she succumbs to the spell of sleep, a comforting lure, despite a nagging... alarm that gnaws at the sides of her brain.

Maybe she imagines the woman's touch on her cheek, brief and rubbery.

The next time she wakes up, she's still on the table but the straps are gone.

She has two functioning arms attached to her torso.

+++++

She needs help standing.

She needs help breathing.

She needs help eating, sleeping, walking, sitting, living.

When the sky is clear and the air is light, she wakes up again. The woman is by her side again, garbed in white cloth. There's a trail of night on the top of her head. It's wavy and soft, and it falls in tumbles around her face. There's water streaming down her eyes.

Still confined to the table, a motion shudders in her chest, a gear clicking in motion.

"Hello," the woman says, a raspy hiccup-y curl of sounds, born anew under her uneducated ears, "Welcome to your home."

She feels impossibly confused and sluggish, but there's a warm shine in the woman's eyes she can't help but trust.

The woman steps closer, "Here," she motions with both hands. She accepts the touch, nimble arms hooking under her shoulders. With a heave, the world gets upturned and she finds herself sitting upright on the edge of the table.

"Here," the woman repeats, water still streaming down the sides of her cheeks, "Don't worry, I'll take care of you, I'll... you'll be okay. See, you'll be... Please, I- oh God... Wait, I-I-"

Her feet touch down on the tiles, hesitant. The movement is accompanied by a tingling wave of pins on the underside of her feet, a feeling somewhat uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant.

"Oh," the woman says and wipes away some water with a hand, "Your feet must be cold, wait. I-"

She bends at her waist, reaches for her own feet. They are clad in a pair of hard bindings.

 _Shoes_.

Something supplies from the back of her head as the shoes clump on the floor with a clatter to reveal bright colours underneath.

 _Socks_.

"Here, so you won't be cold," the woman says and cradles her bare feet closer. She slips on the soft wool, "I'm sorry if you don't like green," she whispers and secures the socks on her ankles.

They are warm and fuzzy.

+++++

Her body feels foreign. It takes days to adjust to the motions and weeks to grow comfortable in it.

It's like a second thought and each time she moves, she has to think about it. She bends forks and breaks dishes with inhumane strength. She reaches a staircase and doesn't remember how to lift her foot to take the first step.

The woman is always there with her, patient and ever so gentle. She eases her grip on the cutlery and hooks their elbows together before nudging her towards the stairs.

With each passing day, she acquires an inch more of her body.

A rattle of bones, a clack of fangs and teeth. Soft skin that bleeds under halfmoons of nails.

She takes to exploring the manor. After days of adjusting and coexisting together, the woman gives her total freedom as soon as she is in control of her body. She settles back in the birth room and spends most days working on fluorescent solutions and messy notes.

"You're free to do whatever you wish," the woman tells her one morning as she pours herself a cup of tea for breakfast, "Just don't hurt yourself in the meanwhile, darling."

The woman likes to call her _darling_ , even though she doesn't know what it means. She quickly learns to associate it to her body, both a cage and a cave. She has so much space to fill with wonder.

She nods over her own breakfast, a tower of syrup and red jam while she struggles not to break another fork with her grip. She's offered a ceramic cup, a steaming beacon of warmth. Her fingers unfold awkwardly, one at a time, before touching the material.

A jolt sparks under her fingertips, an explosion that jerks her whole arm. The cup flies out of their hands and upturns on the table, spilling the tea.

"Careful, it's still hot," the woman chides gently, eyes slanted in worry, "Are you okay?"

The green tinted liquid pools on the wooden surface. The woman doesn't pay it any attention and instead focus on her. Her hand hovers next to her, close but not touching.

During the first days, she had mostly relayed on touch to navigate the world, tracing patterns of textures, mental maps of sensory feelings.

Touch has become a silent agreement, a learning experience for both of them. It's the only way for both of them to communicate in any substantial way. And so, she acquiesces the touch, nudging her own hand in the expectant one of the woman.

The woman's hands are always gentle, the pads of her fingers warm and soft. She turns her hand, showing the reddened patch of skin.

"You burned yourself. Hold on."

It's a long blink before she is back with a roll of gauze and a thick creamy paste. After her burn wounds are tended and wrapped in clean smelling bandages, the woman nudges another cup in her non injured hand.

"Take it from the handle, here," she says and guides her fingers in the proper position.

She sips carefully at the drink, rejoicing in the cloud of warm steam that rises from the cup. As soon as she swallows, though, she grimaces at the foul taste.

"Is it too bitter?" the woman asks with the melody of a chuckle while she drains the puddle on the table, "Let's find something else for that sweet tooth of yours, then."

The next batch of tea is pink and sweet, made from rosemary and raspberry. They both drink a cup in silence.

+++++

She motions with both hands downwards, but the woman's eyes shine with clear confusion. The same puzzled expression she's had on for the entirety of this last conversation.

Another groan tears its way out of her chest. She wheezes a long breath and tugs at the woman's wrist, fingers closing around fragile bones with the upmost care.

A disgruntled wave ruffles the woman's expression, eyes not comprehending.

The void in her chest collapse and a grating discomfort rushes to fill the space beneath her ribs. It's a new feeling, a mounting sensation that spreads to her body, increasing tenfold in intensity.

She growls and tears her gaze away sharply.

She's frustrated.

She can't make the woman understand what she needs.

She can't communicate.

"Oh!" the woman finally gasps after a beat, mouth rounded, "You've torn your socks?"

The words are meaningless to her ears, a garbled mess of emotions and intentions. It makes the frustration simmer further and twist angrily beneath her stitches.

"Don't worry, we'll repair them."

The woman rearranges something on the desk where she's working on - a structure of empty vials and powdered crystals - and motions for her to follow. She does smile, but doesn't look quite gentle.

They duck under an archway in silence, the woman leading her with simple nods. She struggles with lowering her legs slowly not to dent the floor, tries not to let her feelings spill over the cracks in her body. They stop in a room that smells of dust and cobwebs.

"The library. I don't think I ever brought you here."

The woman guides her to a small sofa, a tattered web of blankets and pillows. She sits down after a moment of hesitation.

"Give me your socks," the woman asks, hands stretched. When she removes the material from her feet, the floor feels tingly on her skin, _cold_ , so she crosses her legs, tucks them away from the pavement. Her left calf bumps into something.

It's a squared object, a rectangular shape of leather and angles. She opens it, enthralled by the sound of rustling sheets, rustling papers. Black lines, black dots. Fragile paper. Heavy and rustling and-

"Oh."

The surprise tosses her askew and the woman relinquishes the weird object easily from her loose grip.

"Would you like to learn how to read?"

+++++

After she learns to read, she falls in love with words.

She takes her wandering to the library, where she picks random books from shelves and rearranges them in a new order, based on shape or size or colour.

Her evenings are spent between reading lessons and fuzzy socks.

Most of the books she opens are marked by the same sets of three letters, a single strange word penned in a shaky penmanship. She shows them to her woman one evening, hands full of wandering questions.

"Lex? Why are you...?" she gives a puzzled look warped in a weird echo, "Do you not know my..."

A chuckle takes place between them, "I never told you my name, didn't I?" she smiles, "I'm sorry."

She clears her throat with a sharp cough.

"My name is Lena."

_Lena_

Not for the first time, a growl rises from her chest in a fumbling of noises and groaning. But for the first time, she wishes she could shape those sounds.

"Eee... eeeh."

"You..." a dance of shadows passes on Lena's face.

She tries again, "Eee... ah..."

"Lena."

"Lee... ah- Lee."

Lena's dimples peek from the folds of her smile.

+++++

"Le..."

"...eeeh. Ah."

"L-La... Lee-ah."

"Le - Leena... Lena."

"Lena."

+++++

Words are spotless on paper, they are written in an interrupted flow of stories and voices. When spoken, they falter on her lips.

"Gl-gloves," she bites and halts, bent over a children's book, "Go-go..."

"Goose," Lena prompts gently as she weaves a pattern on a tunic. The crochet hooks clink against each other rhythmically.

"Goose," she repeats, "Go-goose." and they fall in another silence, one filled with whispered mumbling of words and the soft brush of wool.

"Joy. Joy... joy?"

"It means happiness."

"Happiness. Happy," the curl of lips, the blooming wildflowers she brings to Lena's desk, mended socks, "Joy," she savours the word for a bit longer before turning the page to a new letter.

"...Settol."

Lena halts her work to bark a breath of laughter, before bending over her shoulder to spy the page, "Kettle. You're under the 'k' page, darling, not the 's'," another peal of laughter steals her breath away, "How did you manage to read it like that?"

"Kay."

"Kay," Lena repeats, lips morphing to accommodate a clicking sound.

"Kara."

There's a shifting of cloth as Lena turns back to the open book. That word isn't written anywhere on paper.

"Kara?" Lena asks, a golden shift in the green of her irises.

"Lena," she replies, following the thread of the foreign thought. It's an external addition to her soul, a single intrusive memory that shatters and pushes the confines of her identity. She clutches at the name like a lifeline.

"Kara," she nods, "Your name." And Kara nods back, sending a brief feeling rushing to her heart.

"It's wonderful."

Kara feels her cheeks warm and a shy urge to break the gaze, thumbing the corners of the open pages. The book's hard spine digs pleasantly in her left knee.

"Kettle."

"Mmh. That's correct, Kara. Kettle, the one I use for tea."

"Tea. Drink, hot," evenings curled in front of the fireplace, "Sweet."

Lena softens a bit and in the space of a blink acquires a teasing edge, "Mint tea," she supplies and laughs a little as Kara's face scrunches up in disgust.

Kara aligns her throat in a new sound, "Evil."

Her heart half beats along Lena's happy chuckles.

+++++

It doesn't take too long for her to explore all the rooms in the manor. Soon, there's only one door left for her to open, one that Lena tells her leads to the garden.

And Kara is ready to cross its threshold.

She reads about it in the library, in thick books full of pictures and colours. She traces the inks of flowers and trees and animals.

Clad in mismatched socks, Kara takes a deep breath, lungs expanding to the maximum of their capacity. She holds the oxygen in for a long moment, as long as when at first she had to think to release breath. She pushes gently on the door until the mahogany gives under her hands.

She opens her eyes to a warm thrumming on her skin. And she doesn't understand how she could have missed sunlight if she had never knew it in the first place.

She is a creature of thunderstorm, but the sun feels dangerously warm on her skin.

+++++

"Are you female?" Kara asks, feeling lazy in the throes of a winter evening. One season had passed since she awoke, the one with falling leaves and brown colours.

"Yes," Lena replies, an impossible warmth in her tired eyes.

They are sharing the different ends of a sofa in the library, fire roaring in the fireplace. Lena is mending a huge blanket, moth bitten and washed out, while Kara watches the cloth pooling at her feet.

"Am I female?"

"If you wishes to be," Lena continues as she tugs the needle, "Gender is... a complicated thing. Still an issue to someone, sadly. Everyone should be free to decide who they are. You can be male or female or anything else you want. Both, neither, something in between... it's up to you."

Kara crosses her legs, pokes at the holes in her socks.

"Was I female?"

Lena pauses her work to look at her. Kara knows the scientist doesn't like to be reminded of how she was created. A garble of limbs and remains, forgotten and lost. Still, that doesn't mean she doesn't want to ask.

"I can't tell. I made a point not to know anything about the corpses I worked on, so I truly don't know how they regarded themselves. I didn't want to assume," she pauses and the fire crackles in the hearth, "And even if I gave you a female body - female from an entirely biological point of view - you can choose for yourself. It's your right to decide who you want to be, no matter what nature or society says. Or even if it clashes with what you once thought about yourself. If you know who you are, whatever other people think isn't important."

A bubbles twists her way from her throat to her fingers, that are still poking at the torn sock.

"Did you tear your socks again?" Lena's voice tilts gently, "As soon as I finish this, I can mend them for you."

Kara nods mutely, but she obediently compiles and removes both socks. They are yellow and red, stripes of joyous colours.

"Though I only have blue thread right now," Lena mumbles in the metal box of buttons and spools, "I can pick up more next time I go into town."

Kara opens her throat and thinks about words, she always does even if the sounds come much more easily now, "No. Blue is good," she swallows, "Is okay."

Lena smiles, hiding the white of her teeth.

"And," Kara says, "Female is good. Is okay."

"Is okay," Lena repeats and her grin stretches until dimples are showing.

+++++

The manor's garden opens wide in front of her, green life spreading in every direction.

There's a tool shed battered down by weather. Dry ponds for ducks and frogs. Kara tramples over blankets of flowers and collects fallen leaves in the biting cold. She runs her hand along bushy hedges, grows excited as she cradles the morning dew on the pads of her fingers. There's climbing ivy on the sides of forgotten statues, flowerbeds choked by shrubs.

Nature is as wild and untamed as she imagined.

What really grabs her attention, though, is the unpaved road that runs towards the manor's entrance. It's covered in pebbles, small chunks of the same shade of whites and greys.

Two parallel lines run along the path, two identical brown furrows. Kara observes them and knows they are not a trace of nature.

The same evening, she circles her fingers around Lena's wrist and tugs her outside. Under the glow of a lantern light, Lena's cape darkens.

"Carriage tracks," Lena provides, shivering in the cold breeze, "They bring provisions to the manor once a week. They don't linger, so it isn't strange for you not to have met any of them before. They come, unload, collect their wages and leave. They don't like to linger because..."

Another shiver travels down Lena's spine and Kara steps closer to her, not touching yet.

"People?" Kara asks and the word lifts in pitch in a question.

"Yeah," Lena smiles gratefully for the shared warmth. Kara's stitched body, for some unknown reasons, runs hotter than normal human temperature, "They come from the nearest town, outside the..." she trails off, turning to look at Kara.

"Outside," Kara repeats and the word remains carefully even, in the realm of certainty.

Lena's expression morphs, ebbing into something less, and Kara is swimming inside socks and shoes suddenly too big.

"...You want to go out."

A strange look crosses the clouds inside Lena's eyes, a flicker of emotion too brief for Kara to recognize. Then, the look settles into a sadness so palpable that Kara wishes she could retract the request, if only to banish that sorrow away.

"I can't expect from you to stay here forever," she sighs, "Okay. If that's what you want, then I'll take you into town tomorrow."

The lantern's flame flickers for a moment and the change in lighting paints a ghastly quivering across Lena's expression.

+++++

Kara watches entranced as Lena moves in her bedroom. She sits quietly on Lena's bed, a collection of patterned blankets and not a single one tucked under the mattress' edge.

Lena tosses her a long sleeved tunic, the material soft in her hands, "Change into that. See if it looks good."

But Kara merely folds her hands into the cloth, a queasy frown on her face.

Lena kneels in front of her, "Are you okay?" Her tone is earnest, nonjudgmental.

Kara lifts a hand to her belly with a grimace, "Bad food."

"You're feeling sick?" Lena hums, knees digging into the carpet, "Is it your stomach?"

"Sick," Kara rasps, "Sick in my stomach."

A bundle of vines twists in her belly, a coil of wiggling snakes struggling to get free. It leaves a foul sensation on her skin, like the dry and smooth leather skin of a drum.

Lena smiles gently at her, "I don't think you're sick from a spoiled breakfast, darling. You're simply nervous."

"Nervous?" Kara replicates the meaningless sounds with an upturned awe.

"Nervous. You're probably feeling pretty excited about going out," Lena continues, "It's a little endearing, actually."

Kara pauses a moment as she peels her shirt away from her broad shoulders.

"Am I ill?" she chokes, while Lena guides her hands into the holes of the blue tunic, one arm at a time.

"You'll be fine," Lena replies and carefully tugs down the tunic to hide a collection of white scars on the inside of her wrist.

Kara rises with her, but a tendril of worry still finds her way inside her chest when Lena refuses to meet her eyes.

+++++

The town isn't far from the manor, a short and pleasant horse ride. But since Kara doesn't feel comfortable near horses yet, walking it is.

"Kara?" Lena addresses her after a long silence, "This town isn't very populous, but you'll still meet other people. Many people."

"Other people."

Kara counts ten steps before she talks.

"Lena."

"Mh?"

"Other people like you?"

There's a faltering, a shuffling of pebbles.

"Not quite, Kara. I was born in this town, yes, but you'll find that our similarities end pretty much at that," she lets a rueful chuckle escape, "And you don't want them to be like me."

Kara's reply gets lost in the ravine of people she's suddenly faced with as they come to a stop at the outskirts of town.

They are not many, truthfully, but for somebody who's only met one other person in her whole life, four people can easily turn into a crowd.

There are no stitches in their skins, no pallor. Only redness and bronze colours, a pattern of sun interlaid on their elbows. Their grins are slanted and wide with open expressions. And they are talking with each other, nudging each other, smiling at each other.

They walk closer and with each step, she feels a geyser's bubbles in her stomach.

"Not bad food," she whispers under her breath. Lena must hear her, because she turns in her direction to cast a brief glance. She crosses the space between them to give her elbow a brief squeeze.

As they get closer, Kara watches the angles of their knuckles, the thinness of their ankles.

A young man crosses their path and the suddenness of his action makes Lena stumble for a moment. Puzzled, Kara follows his trail, focuses on the brown hues of his tunic.

But before she can ask if Lena is okay, another figure catches her attention. The hunky profile of an older man, contour detailed by grey. He's leaning on a barrel, pint of foaming white held in careless hands. His brow narrows on them menacingly and his time wrinkles deepens.

Half of his face is covered by puckered lines and thick scars.

He spits at his feet on the ground in their direction and Kara feels Lena stiffen.

"This is for your brother's last stunt on our silo. The fire took my wife and my oldest son," he spits words this time, a punch of hatred so clear that leaves Kara reeling from its intensity. "Your brother killed them."

A woman approaches the man, a towering figure with a small bundle of blankets tightened over her chest, "She's not worth it, Morgan. You think the mighty heiress will pay for that madman? She'll set on fire another farm before comes the day that will happen."

"That will be the day I finally put an end to the Luthor's lineage."

He catches Kara's inquiring eyes with another scowl. She sees him downing the last of his drink before she turns a corner, following Lena in another part of the town, much livelier.

"Let's go," Lena says in a shaky voice and nudges her shoulder, brings her out of her stupor.

They venture in a squared area, an open space full of music and colour. They stop in front of a stall that smells of bread and Kara's stomach rumbles.

"Hungry?" Lena's chuckle slightly softens the tension in her shoulders.

Kara offers a teethed grin, "Bad food means no breakfast."

Lena gives a quick glance around, "Wanna try some bread with cheese?"

"No greens. Please and thank you."

"No greens, I promise," she points to a near huddle of tables, "Wait for me? I won't be long."

Kara watches Lena's retreating back, fully aware of the fact that she can't do much to help Lena's unease. Except sit down quietly without breaking the bench. She's busy carefully palming its wooden planks when another body sits down in front of her.

"You were with her, right? With that Luthor?"

It's a sea of flannel, messy short air and fingertips full of splinters tightened around a beer mug.

Kara stares back with unseeing eyes.

"Hey, are you listening to me? Was it you that came into town with the Luthor heiress?" the stranger insists.

Recognizing the questioning tone, Kara forces herself to nod. The pressing edge that underlines the stranger's voice remains lost to her ears.

"Well," the stranger continues after a long swig of her drink. White foam stick to her upper lip, a cloud's tail, "Since you are clearly new around here, let me give you a piece of advice, free of charge."

She hangs her shoulders low, closing off her figure to lean closer. On the other side of the table, Kara can't help but imitate her, leaning forward in her seat.

"You better run away from her as soon as you can, the Luthor heiress... She's as mad as the rest of her family. It's only a matter of time before she follows in their footsteps. Rotten family."

This time, the hidden notes of hate ring clearly.

"No," Kara breathes, thinking about thunders and books and- "Lena is good," Under the table's edge, her knuckles whiten, " Kind."

The determined reply breaches the stranger's brash assuredness. The bench twists under Kara's grips and she feels splinters dig under her nails.

"Is everything okay?"

Kara's head whips in the direction of the new voice, a welcomed arrival. Lena's voice braves the tense reaction, "Did you need anything from us, Miss Danvers?"

The red haired stranger pushes herself to her feet, "Nothing can be worthy of my time if it comes from you, Luthor."

The words are meant to bite and hurt, but Lena barely flinches. Her lack of reaction seems to displease the stranger.

"Whatever," she says in lieu of goodbye while stomping away. Before leaving, she picks up a long axe from the table, one Kara had failed to notice earlier.

Lena sighs minutely as she sags down beside Kara on the bench, "I'm sorry it took me so long." She offers her a tray loaded with food with a natural tilt, as if the charged encounter had never took place.

"No greens," Kara happily proclaims after a quick inspection of the steaming bowls and warm dishes.

"I did promise, after all." Lena replies, grin hanging from a fragile emotion.

Kara grabs a spoon and digs in ferociously in her lunch. She doesn't pause to dose her strength but the spoon doesn't break under her grip.

+++++

The rest of their trip is quiet.

There's no other incidents, no more aggressive intruders. Only peeved stares and angry scowls directed their way.

Kara doesn't know what to make of them.

"I must apologize," Lena confesses under the safety of a shared blanket, that same evening when they are back at the manor.

"I was fully aware of the town's... view on me but I didn't think they would be so openly opposed to you, too. I'm sorry, I should have warned you," a heavy sigh splinters her apology, "Don't worry, they are harmless even if my presence unnerves them. Rightly so. If you had been alone in town today that wouldn't have happened."

"Next time," Kara croaks after a moment of pondering, "I go alone."

Lena's eyes rise to meet hers. Kara thinks she's beautiful even with worry lines and exhausted, shadowed eyes, "You want to go back?"

Kara thinks and hopes.

"But they saw you with me today... they- I..."

It's the offering of a small smile, a breach in Lena's guarded defenses. At Lena's uncertain looks, Kara tugs gently at the blanket draped over her shoulders.

"You don't need to seek permission from me," Lena waves a vague hand, "Kara, you're free to do whatever you want."

Kara's limbs jolt into motion, a rush of pleasure that banishes the snakes in her belly. It changes her, and now she is no longer a newborn.

"Just," Lena halts her and doesn't look up, nose buried in a book, "Be careful."

+++++

Kara waits at the corner of the woods.

A rustling of leaves, the lazy buzzing of a late and lonely bumblebee.

She takes everything in like a fairytale.

The trees sing to the bravery hidden in her body, letting it grow and echo in the cave of her bones. The woods lure her with the promise of adventure as she breathes the cold air. She feels the edges of her shoulders changing under the trees' crowns.

The bad food settles much earlier in the nest of snakes.

The crushing of frozen grass under her shoes. A congealing stream running against time.

Her feet lose coordination as she lifts to her toes to look up. The high tops of the trees make her head spin and she gets dizzy on the stubborn smell of underbrush that sticks to the soles of her boots.

A shift in the melody of nature makes her twist to chase the new sound. She hears heavy steps coming closer in a jumble of treading and stomping. It's the red haired stranger, short leather tunic hanging open and arms loaded with chopped firewood. Over her neck, the sharp edge of her axe catches the glinting sunlight.

"You again."

The stranger's figure tenses immediately as she notices her. Even if Kara can't decipher all the different hues that paint the stranger's words, she can still try to read her body language.

"Did you follow my advice and ditched the evil Luthor?"

"No."

There's ice in the woodcutter's chuckle, "You must be crazy like her, then. Evil and crazy... You know she-"

"Stop lying," Kara interrupts, voice carefully even.

"Please and thank you," she adds after a moment, like an afterthought.

This time, the stranger doesn't falter. "Then," she says, gritting her teeth, "This is no place for a Luthor's lover like you. If you side with her, you are like her."

Kara's boots remain rooted on the spots.

"Are you deaf? I said _leave_."

If she left in that moment and moved forward, Kara thinks she wouldn't be who she is.

The load of firewood crashes to the ground with a harsh clatter and in a blink, she is facing the sharpened end of the woodcutter's axe.

"Go away!" the stranger intimidates again, menace rising in volume.

Kara steps back with a jerk, insides shaking from the curt yell, more than the weapon's appearance. She might be a creature of thunderstorm, but she is used to silence and quiet, the muffling of noise of the manor's walls.

She takes a step back and stumbles.

"Leave," the stranger hisses again, axe inching closer.

Spooked, Kara turns and starts walking, picking a direction almost at random. She counts the roots she trips into and every branch that pokes her skin.

She falters to a stop only when the forest pavement fades into a collection of pebbles and a trod road mosaic of dust and people. Only then, she notices she lost her satchel on the way, the small bag Lena had given her that morning. She'll have to apologize later.

Her eyes flicker up towards the town and the first thing she recognizes is the man from the other day, the one with the white foam, she thinks she remembers.

He almost smiles when she crosses his gaze.

++++++

She doesn't know how she manage to find her way back.

It's late, the cold darkness whipping at her cheeks. The gates creak as she pushes past them with too much effort. Even sheltered from the wind, the icy grip on her stomach doesn't melt.

The hallway is bathed in a flickering orange light. A dancing of shadows engraved on the wall. She thinks she recognizes Lena's profile in the shifting light, but her vision is swimming and she struggles to keep the world from upturning. Her ribs twinge in protest.

She must make a lot of noise, because soon Lena is rushing to her side where she's leaning against the library's doorframe.

"Kara!" Lena cries and her hands search for a grip on her body, "Oh, God. Kara!"

Kara tries to muster a reassuring smile, something she picked up from Lena herself every time she tries to hide her sorrow. But her knees give out from under her completely, forcing her to lean some of her weight on Lena's smaller frame.

"Sorry," she pants, "Lost... your... bag..."

Lena only tightens her grip around the shaking of Kara's shoulders as she struggles to help her reach the sofa.

Kara's feet drag against the carpet with clumsy, pained footsteps. She's missing a shoe.

"God, Kara. What- who..."

Kara's head lolls on Lena's shoulder as she glances down at her tired calves, "Sorry," she repeats, "My legs aren't working well now."

Lena cries in horror.

There's a bloodied handprint on the wooden doorframe.

+++++

She drowns dreams to wake up.

Her back is pressed into something soft, nestled in a warm corner. The sound of cleaving and splintering logs buzzes in her dulled senses.

There's a stiffness building in her neck, head hanging loosely forward. Something warm and sticky trails down one of her arms, the one... she is missing.

A sudden coolness makes her jerk. She tries to gasp but her lungs are empty. Her body slips from her grasp and twitches.

"Shh, hey, it's okay..." a crooning humming touches her soul and quenches the fire that's burning in her veins. Her stitched arm hurts.

"I'm sorry... Kara, please, forgive me. I'm sorry..."

She focuses on the pleads, anything to distract her from the melody of pain. Maybe she could make herself grow numb. After all, it's not her body that's hurting, not really. It's the body... the bodies who came before, she's not... it's theirs, it's-

Coolness touches her cheek.

"I'm sorry," the voice whispers again, gravelly soft as it reaches Kara's ears like foam, "Forgive me."

She thinks she hears a sob in Lena's broken tone, coolness lingering on her temple.

"If I had been... stronger," a groan, a gasp. Kara can't tell where it comes from, "You shouldn't have to bear the weight of-of-"

Pain rips through her, robs her of her hearing. She fails to open her eyes and feels the tug of darkness close into her.

She wishes she could see Lena's eyes.

"Please, forgive me."

+++++

She doesn't understand.

She lifts one hand and feels the cold mirror under her touch. Her reflection comes back warped, distorted by the surface's opacity of the edges.

Who is looking back at her? Kara? The remains of somebody else's hate?

Pale and limp hair, of a sickly yellow pallor that looks nothing like Lena's nocturnal hue. Nothing like the outside people, hair of a different black, an earthier tone of dusk. She looks similar to the elders instead, the sick and frail.

The image fogs suddenly, covered in tiny particles of mist. Nose almost touching the mirror, Kara jerks back and wipes at her breath's imprint away.

Her hands are so big.

Her skin is dotted by stitches, each patch marked by a new textures. Nothing like Lena's alabaster tone or the farmers' bronze skin shining in the sun. There's trail of freckles that originates from her left shoulder that gets dryly interrupted by the confines of a long scar.

Shards of mirror glass dim.

For each glance, there's a spot that sours her mood.

Her shoulders are too broad. She can break a fork with her bare hands. She's too tall. Her left eye shines with a dull blue, while the other bleeds grey. And sometimes, sometimes she forgets words and doesn't always understand how people can say something while meaning something else. Words don't feel real to her because they don't have a physical presence, something she can feel or see.

She's different. She understands that.

She doesn't understand why.

++++++

The children cry in delight. Their knees are touching as they huddle together in a circle over a patch of dirt.

The tumult of life covers the groan of her stitches.

She tiptoes in the shadows of buildings, leaving handprints on walls.

Men join in an upbeat songs while they return from the fields and girls explode in a flutter of chattering as soon as they reach the wash house. A horse neighs its displeasure and plants its hooves firmly in the ground, shaking its head and making a young stable boy cry in surprise.

She runs back to the manor with circles in her eyes.

She falls two times in the woods, grass slippery after the last rainstorm. Mud doesn't have time to harden under her fingernails before she storms inside the birth room.

There's a bubbling of black ichor and maybe it's the illness rotting her body that's breaking free.

"You are not like them," are her first words, spoken with a blunt cadence. A small vial of clear liquid slips from Lena's hands to shatter on the floor.

"Kara, what are..." she stammers.

"You aren't like them."

Lena's eyes drop to the floor, "I'm not."

Kara tastes her next words and spits them, something dark and heavy, "I am not like them."

Lena shakes her head, "You're right. You're not like them," she offers, "But-"

"They do not like me."

Kara hears Lena's heartbeat speed up, sees the hitch in her breath.

"Kara..."

A fracture tears her name apart, a wild inhuman lament freed from her ribs, "They don't like me!" Kara roars. She hurls the nearest object against a wall, a sturdy desk that's destroyed in a spray of splinters and shards.

A fluttering of pages echoes in the following stillness.

The words refuse to come, stuck in her throat and Kara's panting breaths hiccup to a weak wail, not dissimilar to a wounded animal, "Why they hate me? Why?"

The shift of feelings leaves a painful trail in Kara's chest.

"It's because of me."

Lena's shoulders slump forward. “They fear you, they h-hate you because you are my... b-because they saw you with me.”

There's a crack in Lena, a chasm where pain churns and ripples, clamoring to be given voice. But fury devours Kara in a spiral, and the blue fire of anger makes her blind in front of Lena's anguish.

"I'm not liked in town, Kara. People would probably prefer if I disappeared once for all... crawled back into whatever hell my family came from." Lena shivers, dam broken and breaking, "I come from... a bad tree, Kara. This town treats me like a bad omen. A scourge to repel. A sin to cleanse."

Lena pauses for a moment, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic.

"I am the product of my father's unfaithfulness. My-my birth mother didn't... I killed her in childbirth, and my father was forced to take me in his home. In mother's eyes, I was the living memory of her husband's betrayal and she- she never got past that. Only Lex made me feel accepted. He was like a real brother. Proud of me and... At least until- until father died."

She trails off and kneels on the floor to pick up the fallen notebook. She wipes a hasty hand on its cover, brushing away a veil of dust.

"He ended up torching half the town one night and thirteen farmers died in the fire. He's been admitted in some kind of psychiatric ward since then, somewhere in the country."

As Lena rises again, Kara knocks the book out of her hands, "Your fault."

"I'm sorry. Guess I ruin everything around me, uh? " Lena laughs wetly, voice low and nothing more than a whisper, "Mother thought so, too. That's why she left me alone in this decaying manor."

Lena's confession falls on deaf ears as Kara bends at her waist. Her body shakes with a cry of anger.

"I never wanted you to get hurt because of me."

Kara tosses her socks on the ground between them.

"Your fault," she mourns.

Barefooted, Kara storms out of the manor and doesn't look back.

+*****+

The moss is damp, the air still. The fallen leaves stick to the soles of her feet, but she trudges on for hours, armed with a loose tunic and a wild stubbornness.

Eerie sounds breach the darkness, creating a sinister atmosphere that leaves her spine tingling.

Kara tugs the ends of her sleeves closer and braves one direction at random in the woods.

She doesn't feel adventurous or ready, but small and uncertain. She's robbed of her senses, dulled by the edge of the forest. Black trunks against an almost black sky, with no light filtering except for the moon's pale contour. Muffled shifts in the underbrush. Acrid perfumes of the night.

She imagines her stitches coming apart and the insides of her body crawling out from the cracks in the skin. Imagines her pale hair falling off in clumps, nails blackened and chipped, turning into dust one by one.

Her grey eye throbs. She thinks it might be glowing with each beat of her treading heart. She can feel slivers of blue slide over from the other pupil, dip around the white of her eye. She blinks until her eyes bleed at the corners.

She thinks of all the corpses she's made of. All the people who died to grant her life. She feels the cold imprints of their souls clamping over her heart, as they come alive once again inside her. They battle for control of her limbs, that feel more foreign with each passing moment. Her arms twist jerkily, feet kicking against invisible foes.

Her left arm is missing, leaving a stump at her elbow, the sutures running on the insides of her arm darkened with thick blood.

She feels like dying.

Or maybe she is reborn again.

Kara walks on in the foggy landscape until her side bumps into something hard.

She wakes up with a jolt, left side throbbing. And she finds herself nested at the base of a large tree, roots and branches thumping painfully against her curled body. She blinks out the sunlight bathing on her and lets the smell of fresh pine cough her way up her throat. There is a vague notion of being observed nagging at her.

The red haired woodcutter pokes her side again with the back of her short axe, body tensed and coiled as not to spook a wild animal.

Kara blinks blearily and coughs once, before promptly passing out.

+******+

She's taken with consumption and remains bed ridden for days.

The next time Kara wakes up, she is tucked into a cramped bed, buried in covers and stifling warmth. She comes to slowly, taking her time to smell the earthiness of herbs and feel the soft surface of a pillow. Her eyes are sluggish so the light comes in several moments later.

A face she doesn't recognize linger at her bedside, a woman with pale hair and wrinkles engraved by patient smiles. The red haired woodcutter hovers behind her, skittish eyes meandering around the room. Clad in a loose fitting tunic, she seems less menacing, edges softened by the lazy attire. She's watching her.

"Are you finally awake, monster?" she drawls, raw and slick with venom and an axe immediately appears at her side as if conjured from thin air. Kara winces and tries to push herself away, only resulting in a broken wave of coughs.

The other woman jolts in her seat, "Alex!"

A pointed glance makes the woodcutter lower her weapon, "What? She is a monster, she's that Luthor's-"

"Alex, please. Go outside to fetch more water for our guest," the woman counters, unflinching. "Please."

The woodcutter huffs but complies, slamming the door behind her retreating back.

The woman turns back to Kara, "I'm sorry about my daughter, Alex. She is just cautious because she is spooked by your appearance. She doesn't mean any ill."

Willing her ailing body to move, Kara nods, "Scared," she says in a broken rasp.

"Yes. And if I know my daughter she is definitely feeling a little threatened."

"Not evil," Kara imagines her lips saying as she struggles to sit up, "Scared."

The woman hums and proceeds to toss a brown rag in a basin, offering instead a cup of water to Kara, "Fear is a powerful motivator, source of quick judgments and hasty decisions."

They spend a short moment in a silence, where Kara's gaze gets lost in the folds of the blanket. The surface of her cup is clear.

"How? How did I-"

"End up here?" Eliza finishes for her with a gentle smile, "Alex found you passed out in the forest. Freezing and delirious. She brought you here."

"Here?"

"Oh, this place?" the woman wrings the excess water out of the soaked rag, "It's just an old inn on the outskirts of town, a place for any traveler who seeks rest and a bowl of warm food." The water splashes on her lap, a darker stain pooling on the blanket.

"Water," Kara points helpfully to the full basin, perched in the middle of the table. Her eyes retrace the path Alex had just taken.

The woman laughs delightfully and pushes gently on her shoulder to lean back in bed. Kara stiffens at the touch, but obeys without protest. The wet rag is placed on her forehead, "I suppose Alex will benefit more from the walk than anything else."

Despite the weird situation, Kara decides she likes this woman very much.

"Kara," she offers her name, like a gift.

"My name is Eliza. Welcome to our inn, Kara," Eliza rises with a twinkle in the shadows of her eyes, "Please, stay for as long as you need to and then for as long as you wish. I have a feeling you'll like this small dingy place."

+++++

Kara spends the first few days of recovery in relative solitude, except for Eliza's daily visit at sunset, to check on her health.

The wet ricochet of her lungs is quickly banished by a good night of sleep and a warm bed. Nonetheless, Kara lingers in the offered hospitality, feeling suddenly shy.

Alex comes to her room twice a day, armed with a tray of food and a tense judgmental stare. The woodcutter refuses to meet her eyes when she reluctantly picks up the almost untouched food from Kara's lap. Kara suspects Alex's sprout of hospitality must be owned entirely to her mother.

Her open scorn doesn't faze her. She's blunt and full of hate, harsh angles and spiteful glares. Kara knows what it feels to be hated.

It's Eliza's visits that make her stumble. The woman is good, patient with her unintelligible groans. Her smiles tilt to the left side and there's a specific wrinkle between her eyes that is reflected in Alex's frowns.

She feels human with her and it's almost like being back with-

Kara struggles a little more to rebuild her walls with every visit.

She dozes for long naps and ignores the churning in her brain. As soon as she lingers on those thoughts, she lets the anger seep through her stitches.

She lays awake at night and unfolds one stiff hand to trace the sutures on her torso.

+++++

Her peace is shattered quite abruptly.

The door of her room slams open, revealing a couple of people. Kara tenses at the sight of Alex's hardened eyes between them. The woodcutter is sporting a rough graze on her cheek and a split lip.

Along with a taller, muscular man, she deposits a third figure on the bed. As soon as she touches the covers, the figure starts whimpering and writhing.

"Sorry monster," Alex tosses as she wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead, "Looks like you'll have a roommate. Hopefully you don't snore."

Kara forces her throat into a croak, "Is she-" she swallows heavily, vocal cords weighed by disuse, "Is she okay?"

Alex blinks, "Yeah..." she exchanges a brief look with the other man, "Just a case of bad visions. After a good night of sleep she should be okay."

The woodcutter hesitates for a moment, before she closes off again, "No snoring, monster. Keep quiet."

They leave her with threatening gazes and an unconscious girl.

+++++

The girl's sleep isn't restful, but riddled with nightmares and pain.

Kara gets out of bed on shaky feet. A push, a groan of planks and she's standing. The wooden floor isn't cold under her feet.

Her hands tremble as she tucks the blanket closer to the girl's frame and dabs at her forehead with a cool rag.

+++++

"Oh."

There is movement at the edge of her vision and a distorted voice rushes to fill her surprise. Kara flies up from her seat at the girl's bedside.

The voice continues, "Greetings," it offers, "I apologize for the intrusion, I did not realize Miss Nal would have visitors at this time of the day."

A pale figure shimmers in the moon glow, bathed in the clear light that filters from the window. A figure of blue hues appears in front of her, not quite smiling, but not quite frowning either. And while he is apologizing, he doesn't appear to be the slightest bit contrite about it.

"Greetings," he repeats, unperturbed.

He inspects Kara's bare feet and the matted blanket thrown over her shoulders, "Miss Kara, I see. It is the upmost pleasure, meeting you."

He extends one hand in her direction, but when Kara looks back at it, there's nothing.The tendrils of his wrist dissipate into thin air, leaving an empty space behind.

Sure enough, his hand is gone.

The man follows her gaze downwards, "Oh," he lifts his vanished hand to wave at her.

"I apologize," he says again, without an ounce of apology in his voice, "I fear I am not entirely present at the moment. Being dispersed in space and time tends to have this effect on one's body."

Kara nods, accepts his explanation and they both turn to the sleeping girl for a moment.

"Thank you for looking after Miss Nal, Miss Kara."

But the next time she looks in his direction, he's completely vanished.

+++++

"Not human," Kara says as she accepts the breakfast tray from Alex.

"Mh?"

"The girl. Not human," Kara's hands fist into the blanket, "I'm not human, too."

Alex squints at her, "What's your angle, monster?"

"You help her, but hate me," she doesn't feel brave enough to meet Alex's eyes, "Why?"

Apparently it's the wrong thing to ask because Alex immediately storms out and slams the door. The unconscious girl stirs in her bed, but doesn't wake.

Alex doesn't come back to collect the untouched breakfast.

+++++

It takes only a groan, soft and feeble, for the girl to wake up.

"Ugh, my head..." she yawns deeply, an howling groan that reeks of satisfaction.

Unfortunately, Kara's not alone at the moment.

"Another vision?" Alex asks from where she's leaning on the wall, waiting for Kara to finish her breakfast. The woodcutter's features soften imperceptibly, before she catches the girl's yawning. She stretches with a silent yawn of pleasure, pops her neck, "If it doesn't involve coffee, then I don't wanna hear about it."

"Nice to see you're your usual sweet self, Alex."

Alex barks a loud chuckle, "Nice to see you're awake, you third-rate crystal ball."

The girl shoots her a peeved look, "Did you bring me something to eat? I'm famished."

Kara's cup of warm milk is still steaming.

Alex's easy smile drops at the mention of breakfast, "I'll see what's left in the kitchen for you. I just dropped by to feed your new roommate."

The girl yawns in reply, while Kara blinks at Alex's retreating figure. She drops her eyes to her full tray.

"Miss Nal?"

"Mh?"

Kara crosses the space between the beds in swift jerky motions, forcing her knees to bend. She deposits the tray in Nal's lap, curls her fingers carefully.

"Oh, thank you!"

The girl inhales her breakfast.

Somewhere between a sip of milk and a bite of plum, she turns to Kara, "So," she says in lieu of a greeting, "I see you met Brainy."

At Kara's confused look she only chuckles, a jingle of crystals, "Blue face, probably missing a body part or two? That's him," she swallows a bite of toast with a sip of milk before continuing, "He's the only one who calls me Nal. It's just my family name and Brainy is too formal for his own good. Should be part of his courting or something..."

Feeling a shift in the conversation, Kara nods.

"Oh!" the girl says, extending one arm in her direction, "How rude of me. My name is Nia! Nice to meet you!"

Nia smiles and wipes her palm on the blanket. Bread crumbs fall on the pillow and Kara shifts the knot in her throat, "Kara."

She's afraid to discover what Nia's touch feels like.

She braves the ravine anyway. It's less deep than she remembered.

+++++

There are no dreams, no nightmares. Time flows like an old friend in the inn and she carves her nook in its flank. She's living a thoughtless reprieve, with all the intentions to avoid the harsh corners.

Nia takes her outside and talks about her garden, pointing to random spots covered by snow. Kara doesn't see anything but white, and somehow she still believes in her promise of life. She also studies stars and the passing of planets, the only connection to her visions. She likes to sleep in the mornings so Kara saves a cup of warm milk for her.

She meets Winn, of blackened hands. He's made for a few quarters of elf heritage and his irises shift to the pattern of his moods. He spends most of his time holed up in his forge, where he breathes life into his ideas. He just can't seem to be able to wipe a streak of ash from his cheeks.

She meets James and discovers he's the one who prepares her toast every morning. He's born from the earth and likes to walk barefoot in the woods, where he speaks to the trees. During the evening, he mixes the colours of his dreams on a white canvas.

The inn is a place of peace.

Kara explores the place, absorbs every detail. Lets the warm feeling in her chest grow, lets the calm dissipate her growls.

The desire to be useful to her new place has her mulling over thoughts, one evening. She crosses her legs, pokes at the scratchy material of her socks. She's growing frustrated with her inability to think about anything useful when she feels the material give away under her fingers. Skin peeks from the new hole.

A snake awakes in her belly, the feeling of bile rising to her mouth.

Her fear hemorrhages, and it’s days and days of waiting to be tossed out from her new place of peace. Discarded and cast away with anger. She's been so careful with her her strength, a careful unfurling of muscles. Slow folding. Pained breathing and clenching of fists. If they know, they'll rip her stitched heart out of her chest, like the monster in her deserves.

The pull in her chest is stronger than any other force.

In her daze she picks up the shuffling noise of steps headed her way. She closes her fist around the ruined sock, so tight that blue veins appear under her wrist.

"Kara? Are you in there?"

She gets up and wills herself not to breaks the door's handle to dust in her shaky grip. The woman behind the door is the one she fears the most.

Eliza's eyes don't glow in the night and her knees creak when she descends the flight of stairs. Her skin burns and her laughter is unrefined and strong like a roar of thunder.

And she's human. The gentlest of all.

The scariest of all is that she always smiles when she greets Kara.

Kara doesn't understand her.

"Did you lose one of your socks?"

Fear freezes the fluctuations in her veins.

"Kara?" Eliza's voice tilts on concern, "Are you okay?"

Slowly, Kara's hand relaxes, unclenches. Trembles. Her improved speech won't save her, so she remains painfully quiet.

"You tore it," Eliza mumbles, "I told Alex not to give you her oldest pair, well," a shake of head, another kind smile, "We'll just get you another pair, okay? Don't worry."

The comfort is so unexpected that Kara can’t remember why she needed it in the first place.

_Why?_

"We'll just tear them and use them as rags or something," Eliza continues, picking up the material to inspect it.

There's a thrum of warmth in her chest. A pulse that leaves her dizzy, toes tingling.

She feels herself stand taller, jaw clicking on her gums, eyes wet with unshed tears and bold determination. She sniffs and Eliza is graceful enough not to comment on that.

"You don't," Kara struggles to say, bends the croaking lament that refuses to bend into notes, "You don't repair them?"

"Mending socks?" Eliza holds out one arm for Kara to brace against, as she takes off the other sock. "Nobody here knows how to sew. James tried to pick it up, once, but he didn't have much luck. He says he can't figure out where each thread begins and where it ends. Nia is terribly lost with this kind of manual labour, she's more likely to fall asleep than mend a skirt. And we all know Winn would try and invent something using needles and yarns. Of course, if he doesn't manage to set fire to something first."

A twinkle crosses Eliza's eyes, the request for secrecy and complicity.

"And you?"

The wrinkle between Eliza's grey eyes deepens in mirth, "Alex had to pick her impatience from somewhere."

Kara feels the jagged edges of her shoulder melts and change again. A noise of light and happiness escapes from the back of her throat.

"Do you know how to mend socks, Kara?"

And then, she’s thinking again about... about her, and everything goes a little bit fuzzy.

“Kara?”

She’s jarred from her thoughts by Eliza’s voice.

"No, I'm sorry," she swallows, and it's like she has eaten gravel. "I just knew a person who could."

Eliza searches her eyes knowingly, chasing the same trail of loss and sorrow.

"Then we'll just get you a new pair for the moment."

+++++

(Her new socks are grey and felted.)

+++++

Winn comes at sunset to drag her to dinner, saying he's tired of her eating by herself in her room. He saved a chair for her between him and Nia.

It must be a special occasion, because there's more food she has ever seen in her life. There are many people, too.

She discovers it's not a special occasion because when the next day comes, Winn is there to drag her to her chair beside him. Brainy's upper body waves at her from behind Nia's shoulders.

Seated opposite of her there's J'onn, an imposing man whose eyes shine gold. His scent tickles Kara's senses, an acrid smell that leaves her cheeks tingling.

"Ugh," Winn grimaces at him, "Could you please tone down your sulfur breath? I don't want my mushroom soup to taste like a volcano."

"Please, Winslow," comes Alex's dry voice, "Don't provoke the dragon."

When J'onn releases a short cloud of smoke during his next exhale, Winn concedes with a hump, crossing his arms pettily. Kara whips her head in the direction of Alex' bark of laughter and makes the mistakes of crossing her eyes.

"What are you looking at, monster?"

A shiver of discomfort travels in the room, one that's not broken by Eliza's harsh admonishment.

Kara observes Alex's grip on the glass, her elbows thrown across the table, the slouch in her posture. And she understands her words. She sees their meaning clearly.

She offers her a bright smile before taking a long swig of her own drink.

+++++

Every time she tears her socks, Alex fetches her another pair, always grumbling. When her plate is empty, she's asked if she wants another serving.

Winn shows her his sketches of metal and wood.

She lays awake to listen to the pattern of rain and the roar of thunder.

One of the stitches on her thigh comes undone, during one cold night where she lends Nia her extra blanket since she doesn't need it. The stitch comes along easily, swiped by her finger's motion.

There's no pain, no blood, but smooth skin underneath.

+++++

Kara dutifully follows Nia to the well where she heaves bucket after bucket of water, carries them to Eliza's kitchen and drops them in a boiling pot.

She creates a path in the snow, that's now reaching her knees' height. She picks up Winn's heavy anvil to drag it closer to the forge.

She refuses J'onn offers for a cup of tea, even when she smells lavender and strawberries in the warm air. She is happy to curl on the armchair in front of him.

She stops covering her scars and stitches and doesn't notice when it happens.

She doesn't have to think about words so much, as the sounds come much more easily.

She carries fallen trees to the chopping stump and watches the rhythmic falling of Alex's axe.

+++++

The season of bare trees trickle by slowly and Kara feels herself falling in a comfortable pattern.

One day, when the snow is completely melted, Alex throws her a leather bag.

"Come on, we're going fishing."

Kara silently follows her on a short trail that leads to a frozen lake. Alex saws expertly a small circle in the ice before motioning towards the bag in Kara's hands.

"I don't like you because you aren't human... monster," Alex mumbles around a length of rope, "You saw at the inn, right? Me and mum are the only humans."

Kara waits for the small buoy to float back to the surface to reply, "I know."

"But you came into town with that Luthor," she wipes at her frown with a gloved hand, "My father was killed in that fire."

A bubble ripples the water's surface.

"He went into town once a month, to buy provisions we couldn't acquire on our own. He had a couple of friends in town he liked to visit. A young couple of farmers, John and Mary Kent, blessed with a small child, Clark."

There's a choke in Alex's throat, one she tries to mask with a short cough.

"I don't know," she continues, tugging at the fishing rod, "I don't know what they were doing when the fire reached the house. Maybe they were having supper or playing a round of cards, but... the fire trapped them in the house and killed them all."

Another bubble breaks the surface of water. Alex changes positions of her baits, checks each one of them.

"Four victims on a tally marks of thirteen."

Kara tugs gently the hem of Alex's cape and accepts her apology.

"That's why I hate the Luthor so much, why I hated _you_ ," she heaves a long sigh, "But I'm happy I was wrong, at least for once."

Kara feels the intimacy of the moment almost like a palpable presence in the air. A shared secret, a growing trust.

"Thank you for not hating me, even when I definitely deserved it, _Kara_."

Despite the smile that stretches her cheeks, Kara's thoughts betray her, the mention of the Luthor leading her down another memory. It only takes a moment for Alex to catch up to Kara’s sudden discomfort.

"Hey," she nudges her side with a haughty smile, edge teasing for the first time, "Come on, what happened to your 'Lena is good' spiel? I promise I'll keep my judgment to myself... a little."

The teasing fades as Kara clutches the words close to her chest, leaving space instead for that awkwardness of a new friendship.

Alex's hesitation is teared by Kara's violent response.

"Lena isn't good, she is selfish! And wrong! A-and-" a pooling of shadows, a mispronounced word, a town full of hate, "And lonely, hurt... scared."

"Well," Alex hums and passes the rod in Kara's inexperienced hands, "We all get a little scared from time to time. Don't you think?"

They keep sitting together for a long time, munching on bread and cheese at odd hours. Nothing tugs at their rope and when dusk brings their fading colours, Alex starts to pack all their equipment. They return to the inn empty handed, but Kara discovers she doesn't mind.

+++++

Kara is scraping her nails on another stitch crisscrossing her left side (it feels unstable and she wonders if it'll come off too, if they will all come off one day and free her from their shackles) when the shouting begins.

Nia is curled tightly beneath the heavy furs of her bed, body pressed as close to the room wall as she could get. Kara trips and falls on the floor in her rush to reach her side.

"Nia?" She receives a small groan in response, before the girl rolls on her back, eyes still closed. Kara's hand twitches closer, still not touching.

Bleary eyes open, glassy and lost.

"Kara?" she murmurs and Kara tugs the blanket higher beneath her chin.

"One of my visions," she sighs, eyes gradually coming back into focus. "Ugh... I hadn't had one this bad in a long time... And now my head aches, great."

Kara leans back on her thighs and the floor boards groan under her shifting weight, "Do you want me to get you something?"

Nia's immediate smile is a little too enthusiastic for an ailing person, but Kara is always thrilled to help.

"Maybe a cup of warm milk?"

The ashes in their fireplace are still warm and after wearing her boots for a sneaky trip to the pantry, the end result is a small pot of warming milk (and if there's any left for Kara, well, she's not one to complain).

She stirs lazily the milk, as she waits for Nia to talk. She knows she gets chatty after she gets her vision, a way to cope with them probably.

"God, this one was terrible," seated on her bed against the wall, Nia shivers and pulls the covers higher, "It was dark and, an assault... angry men... screaming and shouting... I think they were armed and marching towards a manor?" she trembles again, "Their anger ran so deep..."

"They were striking down a gate, with pitchforks and torches... It was so dark that I might be wrong but I think I Saw the manor outside town? You know, the one that's actually not too far from this inn, huge garden, big windows..."

Kara's breath gets trapped in her lungs.

"Lena?"

"Mh? What is it?"

"Lena," the spoon in her grip wavers, shakes, "It's Lena," and falls in the fire as Kara bolts outside.

+++++

The manor swallows her up, so as she walks she chokes it with livid teeth. She keeps close to the walls, unnerved by the size of the old house, now that cozy rooms packed with bodies are grown familiar to her.

She had found the back door open, same as the main gate. Before stepping further in the manor, she had tightened each lock twice. There is no trace of angry men yet, but Kara can feel them in the resounding silence, like a charge in the clouds. A shift in the owl's chanting. The cracking of fallen leaves.

Her steps quicken.

The manor is cloaked in darkness, a colour so deep that leaves bright dots of light in Kara's vision.

She breaks another banister while she climbs the stairs.

She checks the birth room first.

Through stained glass, the night gloams the room in shades of violet. A lone lantern floats inside and the contours of its shadows are seething. Kara steps inside and comes to a stop in the center of the room, the same spot where she’s stood dozens of times before, watching Lena work on her table. With a bunch of bright wildflowers on sunny days.

Lena is hunched over her desk, pale and sickly, eyes bruised. The circle in her irises seep into dark veins just beneath the surface of her skin. Gaunter cheeks, of a terrible melody. Hair longer and disheveled.

Kara reaches out and screams.

"Lena."

But Lena doesn't turn and Kara realizes her scream was choked by the spires in her throat.

A feeling claws its way out of her chest. She doesn't recognize it.

"Lena," she says, immediate, sure. Maybe trembling.

Lena turns and blanches as if she saw a ghost.

"Lena, we have to leave. There's a group of men that's going to march on this manor-"

"Kara..."

"and they're already on their way, Lena. They're angry and- and if you stay here-"

"I know."

Her head splits open.

“Lena please,” Hurt and worry well up within the murky anger that pools in her lungs, “We have to go, we have to- please...”

But there's a glassy quality to Lena's gaze, a drunken stupor. Kara can only watch the shadows narrow, the ghoulish tint to Lena's profile.

"Lena?" and her plea bleeds like a prayer.

"I know they're going to raid the manor. My usual suppliers weren't being particularly subtle in their snooping. And since today's provisions had been rather scarce, well... I guess my time has finally reached its end. But if you leave now, Kara, you should still make in time to be safe."

The flame glints on the smooth surface of a glass, catching Kara's eyes. The amber liquid is dangerously low, a constant swirl in Lena's fidgeting hands.

"You have the sky, Kara. Go and find happiness in it."

Kara curls her fingers around Lena's free wrist. It's colder, smooth like the pebbles she collects with Winn on the riverbed. She tugs gently like before, but this time Lena doesn't move, "You must come too. If they find you here, they... they-"

"They'll kill me," Lena supplies impassively as she lifts the glass back to her lips. The absence of fear in Lena's eyes scares Kara more than the threat of an advancing army fueled by hatred and anger.

But when a distant thud of a broken chain crawls through the open windows, a vicious roar tears Kara's lips.

She snarls.

"No!" her fingers clenches, tenses with anger and Lena cries out - in shock or pain, she doesn't know.

Kara finds the strength in her monster, "You too. I'm not leaving you again," No running, not this time.

"K-Kara!"

The glass shatters at their feet, shards collecting in a graveyard of empty vials and shattered projects. Kara takes another step closer, touching, _touching_ , Lena. A panting silence, a crossing of fears.

Kara exhales.

Her fingers move again, soothing and cradling Lena's chin. She finds strength in her softness, "Lena."

Lena's bottom lip quivers beneath her thumb and when it falls, Kara catches her first tear with the gentlest pressure. There's a blinking of mist in Lena's eyes and Kara sees as the pain finally cracks her open.

"Family is all I ever wanted."

Another thud rises from the garden.

"At first, I-I believed a family was people that lived," a sniff, a curl of shoulders, "L-lived together from the first instant they were born into life... born under the same roof and all of that. Same blood. And since- since I was adopted, that could have never applied to me, especially after father died, my only blood relative."

Hot tears drip down from Kara's fingertips until the crease of her elbows.

"After mother left I started thinking- I started thinking that maybe I could build my own family. That I could build you." An incredulous teary laugh shakes her frame and it ricochets in Kara's slow beating heart, "So I started studying galvanism and electrical flow in dead animals. Finding corpses to test my discoveries hadn't been easy. The last mad Luthor haggling for dead bodies in orphanages and brothels? If they had found about it, they would have assaulted my manor ages ago. Maybe I should have just simply dug up a mass grave, malady be damned."

She pauses to shiver and collect the quiet bravery leaking from Kara's touch.

"And when you came alive, when you finally came alive. I panicked. I-I didn't want you to feel like less or trapped. Or something in between. Because, no matter how much I wished to have a family, I couldn't rob you of your freedom. Did I appear too detached? Uncaring? I wanted you to explore the world on your own terms, to live as you wished to live. And... and I didn't want you to be tainted by my darkness, by the Luthor's darkness. Seems like you did end up absorbing some of that Luthor madness anyway, since you came back here, even when you don't owe me anything, Kara. Because Kara, there's a light in you, a light I..."

A crash makes her jolt, accompanied this time by the raucous laugh of victory. Lena shudders but continues.

"Turns out I never did know what a family is, uh? It should be love, but... growing up as a Luthor, it shouldn't surprise me that I know nothing about love."

With each word, each moment sticks to them before getting released and settled in a thick pool.

Kara now realizes her hand is cradling Lena's cheek instead. She rubs her thumb on her skin slowly, a caress.

And if Kara would have fled once, would have stumbled in the tangle of her own feet, now she thinks about the stitches that's coming undone in her body, revealing healthy skin beneath.

She pauses to think what she wants to say and cradles all her courage.

"Family isn't about blood," she begins, braving Lena's gaze, "It's not how much time you spend together. I saw it, in a family I found. it's not my family, not yet, but it could be one day, if I want it to."

The words come loose easily from the cranny in her chest where she had collected them. She dislodges each one like a precious treasure, a warm pebble found on the way.

And this time, she knows all the right words.

"Family is choosing each other, day after day. Love is constantly choosing each other."

She tips Lena's chin up, gently.

"And then, after you have chosen, you have to act. And you repair a broken tool or pick up a fallen object. You see a tree and think about someone. Or you pile wood in the shed, enough for every chimney in the house, even if it's cold and you're tired and wants nothing more than a cup of tea. You stand together and share love and sorrow."

She keeps looking at Lena.

"I know you love me, Lena. And I know you are capable of loving. You showed it to me, every day."

There's a cloud of mistrust in Lena's eyes. A disbelief so keen and biting that- "How?"

"You mended my socks every time."

She feels Lena shaking, curling closer. She dares another step. "Choose to live, Lena. Let me have time to choose you."

Lena's tremble travels through her arms until it reaches the shaking walls of the birth room. A distant region of Kara's mind registers it as danger.

"Looks like you know more about love and life than me, darling," Lena hiccups, and her words sound like a melody again.

For a moment, Kara doesn't remember how to expand her lungs to breath. How to lift her foot to take a step.

Yelling breaches their quiet and Kara's fingers circle Lena's wrist once again. But there's a new hesitation in her motion, a palpable sadness.

"It's okay, darling," Lena offers a small reassurance, drenched in a wet smile, "I needed some sense to be shaken into me."

The skin of her wrist is bruised, a shade of blue that looks black in the darkness. A wail rises from Kara's lips, an animal's lament.

"Ssh, it's okay... it's going to be okay, Kara," Lena says and it's a handprint on her soul. "Now, where should we go?"

The shower of falling debris sounds suddenly much closer.

"I found a warm place. Warm people," Kara's heart soars along with Lena's speeding heartbeat.

"Do you think they will welcome me?"

"Yes."

An angry shout cleaves the air, and Kara's eyes dart forward, toward the broken banister. She glances at the wall behind them with a new perspective.

"How can you be sure?"

Lena's wrist feels so warm that she can't help but press her thumb softly in her skin.

"You know how to mend socks."

**Author's Note:**

> That's it. Thank you for reading. Here's my tumblr if you want to day hi  
> [arckee-dreams](https://arckee-dreams.tumblr.com/)
> 
> For the +******+ part  
> Disorientated and distraught by pain, Kara runs away from Lena's home. As darkness falls, she gets lost in the woods. Where she once felt brave and adventurous, now she only feels scared.  
> Spent the night between nightmares and vision, Kara is shaken awake by the redhaired woodcutter, who finds her sleeping curled up at the base of a tree. Exhausted, Kara falls unconscious again.  
> And that's all :)


End file.
